


In Bloom

by griffonskies



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Flowers, M/M, Painter Lance (Voltron), Professor Shiro (Voltron), Road Trips, So many flowers, Tattoos, pure fluff, so slight blink and you'll miss it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 13:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18852202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/griffonskies/pseuds/griffonskies
Summary: Snippets of Lance's and Shiro's days together in a small town and the search for the next chapter in their lives.





	In Bloom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mistydragonflyart](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=mistydragonflyart).



> Written for the Shance Flower Exchange 2019 for mistydragonflyart on tumblr.  
> The flower being: Chrysanthemum
> 
> I'm sorry it's a bit late! And that I included so many flowers (both real and imagined) when you requested just one.  
> I hope you like it! Take care!
> 
> Also thanks to everyone who listened to me freat about writing it. Lisa especially, thank you again!

 

 

Lance wakes drowsily to the pitter-patter sound of rain against their window, he can just about make out the blue of the early morning sky behind the rain clouds. There’s a steady heartbeat under his cheeks as he lays sprawled against Shiro’s chest, with Black and Blue purring and curled up like a brown-black fluffy pillow in the little space left between them. The page of a book turns almost soundlessly and he knows that Shiro is already awake and reading, one hand holding a small book and the other holding Lance close.

“What time is it?” Lance murmured sleepily, he had stayed up late, racing against the night to finish a painting, he almost groaned at the prospect of having to get up already.

Shiro’s arm tightened around his shoulders, and he moved closer to leave a lingering kiss against Lance’s temple, “It’s still too early, go back to sleep.”

Lance gladly followed the suggestion and was out like a light the next second.

The second time Lance wakes it’s to Shiro leaning over him on the bead, strong arms holding him up on both sides of Lance’s shoulders, peppering the side of his face not buried in the pillow with kisses.

“Wakey wakey, eggs, and bakey~” Shiro singsongs and Lance wants to groan but laughs instead, he turns around and pulls Shiro down until they’re chest to chest and nose to nose. The rain from this night seems to have cleared and in its wake warm morning light shines in through their window and covers Shiro in a glow that Lance can’t help but stare at, burning it to memory so he can try and paint it later. Shiro smiles fondly at him after a minute and leans in for a kiss.

“Good morning. Come on, breakfast is getting cold at this rate.”

Lance hums at him, hands going up to grab the front of Shiro’s crisp white dress shirt - he’s already been out it seems, most likely to get said breakfast - he fingers the material a bit but then grabs it in fistfuls and flips them slowly over. Shiro laughs the whole way, raising his arms to encircle Lance’s waist. Lance is meanwhile loosening the buttons and gliding his palms across Shiro’s broad chest, leaning forward to kiss at his neck at the very tip of Shiro’s copy of their matching flower tattoo. He starts at the very tip of a black inked leaf that curls up their necks, almost peeking out of a dress shirt collar. He kisses down the curved petals that hug the collarbone and upper arm and the last kiss falls right into the center of the Chinese chrysanthemum on the tip of the shoulder. The magic ink petals wave and flutter with their heartbeats.

 

Ten minutes later Lance prances over the distance between their bed and the kitchenette, loosely buttoning up the white shirt he just took from Shiro, it’s too big for him and falls of one shoulder but he hugs it to himself anyway as he takes a seat at the small table overflowing with plates and cups. And in the middle stands a vase overflowing with flowers, holding a bouquet of lilacs in every shade of violet. Lance leans forward to take in the fragrance of it and smiles at Shiro when he sits down across from him, now loosely dressed in a deep blue shirt.

They met in rainfall of flower petals, years ago. Shiro was carrying an armful of pale pink chrysanthemum for his friends birthday, their giant blooms slung over his shoulder as he jogged up the cobbled street, he had reached the top just as Lance had rounded the corner of a building, his bike shaking on the uneven floor and slipping on the after-rain wet stone. He tilted sideways. Shiro jumped forward, one arm extended. They collided and with a huff ended on the ground, the bike upside down and the wheels still turning, flowers went flying everywhere, petals falling out and scattering over them.

Shiro ended up with his back to the ground and Lance sprawled over his chest. Lance pushed up on his palms ready with a litany of apologies only for all of them to die on his tongue as he stared into silver eyes in wonder. And the same silver eyes staring back at him.

It took them a long minute before they remembered where they were, and they exploded in apologies and reassurances, Lance insisted on buying new flowers and they went to get new ones together. Shiro ended up inviting him to his place for coffee and by the time Allura and the others came for the party the two of them were pretty much head over heels in love and glaringly obvious about it. And they pretty much never stopped visiting the local flower shops and the Saturdays open market in search of new flowers.

 

* * *

 

 

Date time varied, always. With no rhyme or reason.

Last time it was a trip to the adrenalin park, today it was brunch at a cafe the town over. One of the walls of the cafe was black chalk paint, and every week there would be a new painting over it. This time they arrived to find a wall full of stylistic flowers in all colors, the enchanted paint making them come alive with flowers opening and closing, and vines dancing over the walls. Live vine climbing plants covered the front windows. The light falling through the leaves danced on the small round tables. It took some maneuvering to fit the food and coffee and sweets on the small table but the staff expertly slid each plate over the wooden surface. Their knees touching as they talked about their week, silly memories, little anecdotes, their plans, their hopes, and dreams.

A little booklet gets opened between them, the enchanted paper folding and turning until it finds a snug place between all the cups and glasses and plates. The simple brown paper cover holding all their plans and dreams in its old yellow pages. It opens to their latest plan: a layout for a big garden, footpaths chaotically dividing between the fruit trees, vegetable patches and flower patches, there’s a place for beehives and patios and a shed with big windows for Lance to use as a studio.

Turning the page they make a plan for a plant nursery. A grand floor plan of a glasshouse takes up half the pages, the other half is filled with places for pots in every shape and size, tools and soil.

Lance reached out over the table to wipe at the milk foam lingering on Shiro’s cheek, Shiro took the hand in his and kissed the palm in thanks.

There's a garden nursery in the town and they spend almost the rest of the day there. Their apartment is small, no balconies nor a rooftop garden in the area. The only place they can put plants that need more sun is the windowsill, and the windowsill is also small. They look at flowers and cacti, little bushes and herb saplings. They explore the hot room, and the outside open area, looking at all the plants taking up almost every inch of space. Orchids and peace lilies, succulents, snake plants and miniature citrus trees. Rose bushes and cherry saplings and other fruit trees lining the outside garden wall. They settle on a pot with herb mix - mint and basil and parsley, and another of dark green sage. A pot of geranium and a bright peace lily. They grab terra cotta and ceramic pots because Allura might just kill them if she finds them using plastic. They get fresh cut hydrangeas - a thousand tiny blue flowers on every stem.

They walk home the whole way, hand in hand and the other arms full of greens and flowers.

 

* * *

 

One night Shiro almost barges into their apartment. Bright eyes and excited, despite having spent most of the day at the university, teaching and helping out with the students and research.

“Love, we’re going on vacation. Please book nothing for the next few months time.”

Lance laughs at him, puts down the paint brushes, then runs to hug him around the neck, and they twirl around the living area. “Hey, Alexa! Play slow-dance playlist!”

At around five hours of play time it was their largest playlist by far and by the time they were just swaying to the music, instead of dancing, the moon was rising on the deep blue night sky, and their dragon-light flower opened its transparent petals to soak in the starlight and then emitting a soft white light, in turn, the whole night.

It was everyone's favorite night-light flower.

 

* * *

 

It was a trip they’ve been preparing for months now but had very little actual planning done. It was to be as chaotic as possible. This was Shiro just making it official after getting time off from work. They got the van ready, taking it out of the garage and cleaning it out, taking it to the mechanic to check all the gear, bolts and fluids.

They loaded it with all the luggage and food and a snug little bed for Black and Blue.

They were out on the road the very next day as the sun rose on the horizon.

By the time twilight was covering the distant mountain tops in every shade of orange and red they were driving down a flower field. Bright yellow and orange and reddish sunflowers swaying in the breeze. Van windows were wide open to let in the cool evening air after the heat of the day.

They stopped right there on the side of the road to take a closer look. It was one of their favorite flowers and often found its way into their home, the bright petals coloring the counters in the sunshine.

Wading between the high blooms, Shiro took out their camera and started shooting pictures; Lance and the backdrop of the evening sky, Lance as a silhouette surrounded by a blanket of warm setting sunlight, Lance peeking out between the sunflowers looking for Shiro, one giant sunflower almost covering half of his face, Lance smiling and reaching out for the camera, a crooked photo of Lance with his arm over Shiro’s neck, faces squished together, smiling brightly at the camera.

It’s high nighttime when they arrive at their rented old cottage, right outside of a small country town. The owner had left the key under a pot of multicolored violets. The old key opens the old lock on the white wooden door in a white wooden frame, the entrance room, bedroom, and connected living room and kitchenette are just as white and clean and fresh. They laugh the whole way in and while looking around. And, drunk on joy, fall entangled on the soft bed to sleep away the night.

They take out their bikes early the next morning. Cycling down the country road into the little town and up to the only open market in the surrounding area. The little town square is crowded by little stands selling all kinds of things, vegetables and meats and wines and liquors, hand-blown glass bottles and newly made baskets. The place is almost blanketed by the smell of freshly baked bread coming out of a bakery right on the main square.

They take food and drink for a big picnic. Loading their bicycle front and side baskets with strawberries and grapes, cheeses and thinly cut cured meats, freshly baked bread and a bottle of brightly bubbling cider.

There’s a lady selling flowers around the square and they pretty much buy half of her pink peony supply and put them in the baskets with the food.

They rode their bicycles out the town square and went up the little stream enfolding the town. In a secluded area, they sit by the waterside and talk and eat and plan for tomorrow.

At one point Lance takes out special paints, a family recipe handed down generations, and comes right up to Shiro, sitting down in his lap and straddling his tights. He takes a little of the powder blue paint and stars painting over the bridge of Shiro’s nose. Lance covers half his face in pastel blues and purples and reds, dabbing and blending the paint on with his fingertips, one fingertip for each color, expression intense in concentration, tongue tip held between teeth. Shiro just sits there, hands around Lance’s waist, waiting and watching him with a tender expression. White paint follows, painted on with a tiny, soft bush. Little stars for a colorful nebula and lines to make a constellation. By the time night falls the paint starts softly glowing, reflecting in Shiro’s silver eyes and white hair. Shiro laughs when Lance takes picture after picture.

The stars are fully out when Shiro puts an arm around Lance’s shoulder as they sit there, with his other hand he reaches towards the sky, he twirls his fingers as if caressing strains of soft hair and grasps at nothing. He pulls the hand back and reveals glowing silver strands of starlight mixed with the young moonlight. He waves and braids it together into a line of tiny stars on a tiny string and crowns Lance with it, little stars hiding into brown curls.

 

* * *

 

They slowly drive up the side of the big mountain range, the warm summer air turning cold, and sunshine turning to falling snow. They bundle up as they get ready to hike up a ridge to take in the view. Black and Blue crawl into Shiro’s backpack and Lance spends half the hike taking pictures of their little faces hanging out the top. They pass a frozen lake, snow tops reflected in its mirror-like surface. Black and Blue shapeshift to dogs to run with Lance over a glade, they run and run in a few circles before all three collapse onto Shiro in exhaustion. They hike down the other side of the ridge, landing right on top of a cliff overlooking the ocean. And right down in the bay is a pod of whales, playing in the calm waters and jumping up up up, until they can look eye to eye with the two humans standing on the high cliff edge.

The biggest whale jumps one last time, and then it slaps it’s strong tail in the air and flies into the clouds above. The others follow, and it seems like an awe-inspiring synchronized dance.

That night Lance takes a round bottle, takes a deep breath and breathes into it, the cold making his breath to vapor. But the vapor turns a light blue and gatherers and swirls around and around until there is a little Asian dragon-like creature floating around in the bottle, putting out a soft light. Just enough light to sit at a table with. By morning the dragon had faded.

They drive down the other side of the mountains, through the ancient fairy forest, one of the oldest in the world. They watch the stars at a lakeside surrounded by lupine flowers. They pass big forests and hop on island chains. Pass the floating cities and towns hanging off cliffs.

Up and down every little road. Searching.

 

* * *

 

They find it at sunset.

The smell of lavender permeates through the van windows, a field of purple stretches as far as the eye can see. And right in the middle of it an old stone and wooden cottage. High trees grow at the back of it and a small stone wall surrounds it. A little driveway leading to it is almost swallowed by the wild bushes, but a clear sign is posted at the corner. It says, “for sale”.

 

 


End file.
